


Limbo

by dvske



Series: Count the Ways [9]
Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:18:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8187503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvske/pseuds/dvske
Summary: It's hard to move on.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ['The Way You Said 'I Love You'](http://rhvme.tumblr.com/post/137729229293) prompts via a lovely soul on tumblr. Prompt# 28, when I am dead.

It’s not a limbo, per se, but time seems to cease when the apartment’s empty. Space warps, folding into misshapen corners and edges, pockets of muted sound. Life itself feels sucked out, the atmosphere hollowed to an unrelenting ache. There’s nothing but silence to keep Grant tethered throughout the day, to this here and now.

Barely.

Stifling pause.

A question.

_Why am I here?_

He asks this every day, puzzling over his circumstance as he wanders each room in a daze. His belongings are tucked from view or wholly missing. Pictures and clues that he onced lived have already been packed away. The rest is clutter. Boxes, everywhere, half-full or stacked and labeled in Asher’s distinctive scrawl. Items lay in varying degrees of disarray. Transition for the move. This, Grant knows. Recognizes. It’s a much needed transition, one that's been delayed for far too long.

But.

_I shouldn’t be here…_

Each day, Grant’s lost in this sense of displacement while Asher’s away. Always away, away for so long. Then home again, ever blind to Grant’s presence, numb to the world.

He used to sleep it off. Used to burrow into the sheets and heave long, solid breaths until he drifted to slumber. He used to wake somewhat rested, with enough energy to face the day, but now that energy’s run cold. It’s affected the apartment. It's affected Grant. His consciousness. His spirit, left afloat.

_Why am I still here?_

He shouldn’t be, not anymore. How long has it been? The details are fuzzy, but he knows his time has passed. He knows he no longer belongs in this world. He knows he only remains due to some magnetic, nagging force urging him to hang on, to stay, _please stay_.

Is it normal to linger so? For the days to feel so eternal with his lover’s absence, yet so short upon his return?

And when Asher returns…

Only then does clarity seep into the corners of the room and the gaps in Grant’s memories. His senses sharpen the instant the blond trudges inside with satchel in tow and heartache still plain on his features. Forgotten facts resurface.

A late night. A busride home. A freak accident, drunken collision. Screams. Sirens.

Deafening silence.

Grant observes.

Then;

Time unwinds,

Slowly, slowly.

Tonight, however, it’s different.

Asher doesn’t move past the front door. He surveys the living room instead, tired eyes scanning the untouched boxes and abandoned messes awaiting organization. Books and electronics. Dishware, small furnishings. Trinkets collected over the years. There are empty spaces sprinkled about for Asher to settle and set to work, but it’s clear the mere thought of packing is an overwhelming one. He shrugs his bag to the floor, leans heavily against the door.

Then;

Slowly, shakily,

He unravels.

It’s nothing Grant hasn’t witnessed before.

He’s a messy crier, Asher, his face contorting as grief overtakes him. A broken sound parts trembling lips, swallowed mid-way as Asher sinks to the floor. He tries to quiet himself, pressing a palm to his mouth and the other to his gut. Shaking. Squeezing at his stomach until he starts curling in on himself, knees upraised. He hugs them, hiding his face like a child willing himself invisible.

Pain. He’s always been one to bury it. Grant knows this, remembers it well. Asher ignores and buries, buries and smothers it all until it can’t be contained. At which point, he erupts.

It’s no different now. No different now, except...

_Why can’t you see me?_

Of all the nights, all the wordless hours spent watching Asher force himself through the motions and pretend to be somewhat functional, Grant has never wanted to hold him more than in this instance. He wants to speak, to soothe. Something, anything—but he can only kneel before his loved one with a weary expression. He can only sigh and place a hand on blond's shoulder. His hand rests unnoticed for a few seconds before losing shape, phasing through. Its shimmery contour loosens and reforms only when he withdraws entirely. He stares at it, resigned.

Useless.

And it’s not torture, per se.

But it’s damn near close.


End file.
